


Doc Oc

by littlelovelyspiderling



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: But also, Enemies, Gen, Identity Reveal, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Precious Peter Parker, Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie), Spider-Man: Homecoming (Movie), Tickling, Ticklish Peter Parker, peter is kidnapped by doc oc and he tickles him to get him to talk the end, that stay enemies pretty much haha, ticklish!peter, yet even villains can't help but be like <3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:47:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25235662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelovelyspiderling/pseuds/littlelovelyspiderling
Summary: Peter is captured by Doctor Octopus. While trying to get the young hero to talk, the evil scientist learns a few interesting facts about New York’s friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Avengers Team, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 135





	Doc Oc

Peter had faced Doc Oc plenty of times before, but never _four nights in a row._ He was in the middle of a much-needed nap when the psycho eight-limbed scientist suddenly popped up on the news again, terrorizing the citizens of downtown Queens _again_ , and demanding an audience with Spider-Man— _again._ This guy would not give him a break. Peter had bested him four times, but four times he had slipped from his and the police’s grasp. On top of early school days, mounds of homework, and a slew of new Avengers missions, it was really wearing him down. Peter groaned, threw on his spandex suit, and begrudgingly swung out to the scene, blinking the sleepiness from his eyes.

Doctor Octopus chucked a car down the street, narrowly missing a group of terrified bystanders. His metal arms spit sparks across the pavement with every massive step.

“Bring me Spider-Man!” he cried, laughing maniacally. Spider-Man flipped off a building and on to a streetlamp, stifling a yawn.

“All right, all right, I’m _here_ , freak show.” Doc Oc turned on him, grinning fiendishly. Peter scrubbed a hand over his face. “Seriously man, how many times are we gonna do this? Can’t you just go to jail already? Or take a day off? Start a new Netflix series maybe? I’ve heard _Nailed It_ is stellar. Or, I don’t know, do something more constructive with your time besides dragging a very grumpy superhero out of bed every night to whoop your ass for the millionth time this week?”

“Do not fret, arachnid,” Octavius assured him, rising high on his mechanical limbs. “This ends tonight.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what you said yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that, so don’t mind me as I continue to fret with extreme passion and— _ah!”_

A tentacle swung at him, whooshing beneath his feet as he leapt over it. Spider-Man whipped around the lamppost and dropped to the ground, landing low against the asphalt. Not a second later, another arm came flying for his face. He rolled this time, the metal claw barely nicking his shoulder as it whipped overhead. The sharp sting made him hiss. He sprung on to the side of a building and fired a glob of webbing mid-leap, but it missed the evil doctor by a mile. His movements felt sluggish, uncoordinated. _Oh crap._ The consequences of three nights without proper sleep were really starting to take their toll—and it was not cheap.

He shook his head, fighting to clear the fog from his brain, but it refused to dissipate. His muscles, too, felt tired and limp. Spider-Man ran along the side of the building and threw himself at Octavius, fist wound back, teeth gritted, only to get knocked sideways and thrown into a wall. His head hit first, sending a jolt rattling through his skull. He slumped to the ground, jarred and dazed, the fog creeping into the edges of his vision. A shadow loomed over him, smiling like the grim reaper coming to claim his soul.

“My, my, Spider-Man. One hit, and you’re already out for the count? I expected better from you.”

“You…planned this,” Peter realized, staggering to his feet. “Drawing me out late every night…never letting me rest.” His eyes felt heavy in his head. All he wanted was to sleep. The world was spinning like a carousel. “Y-you…son of a—”

A tentacle whacked him on the temple. Spider-Man was out before he hit the ground.

Light was what finally woke him. Harsh, white, aimed directly in his eyes. He blinked and squinted, groaning in protest, scrunching up his nose and furrowing his brow.

“Took you long enough,” a familiar voiced groused. “I was almost worried I had rendered you comatose.”

The light moved away. Hesitantly, he opened his eyes, letting himself take in the room. Doc Oc was standing in front of him, looking irritated. Gradually, his brain switched back on, and the situation dawned on him. _Oh no. Oh god._ He…he had been _kidnapped._ By Doctor frickin' Octopus. That was red flag number one.

Next, Peter gazed around, noting the boring gray walls and strange equipment lining the tables. It seemed he was in some sort of lab, the dark and clammy and _evil secret lair_ type _._ Red flag number two.

Red flag number three came when he tried to move. Because, well, he couldn’t. Peter looked down and discovered he was suspended upright on a large metal board in the shape of an ‘X’. His arms and legs were pinned to the board by thick metal clasps—thicker than the width of his wrists. The realization launched his heart into his throat. Spider-Man was captured and restrained. By his absolute _worst nemesis._ A man who spent more time plotting to murder him than most normal people spent working a day job. Terror welled like lava in his stomach. Peter couldn’t stop himself from immediately trying to wrench free. He knew he looked pathetic, weak, desperate, but he hated the feeling of being trapped. And he was dead if he didn't escape.

Yet try as he might, the bonds were too strong. Doctor Octopus chuckled.

“Valiant efforts, arachnid. But I’m afraid you’ve been caught. Not even the Hulk could break those restraints. No use wasting your energy on so hopeless a feat.”

Eventually, Peter stopped struggling, gasping in frustration. “L-let me go,” he growled. He cursed the tremble in his voice.

“I’ve spent this entire week orchestrating your capture, and then I’ve had to sit here waiting for you to wake up for the past ten hours. I’ll pass, thanks.”

Spider-Man swallowed. _I’ve been asleep for ten hours?_ At least he’d gained back some of the rest he’d lost. His newfound alertness and the lack of pain in his skull seemed to confirm Doc’s claim. Still, what good did that do for him now? He lowered his head, fear throbbing through his system in sync with his rapid heartbeat. Peter Parker was totally and utterly _screwed._

“What do you want? Why haven’t you just killed me?”

“Curious how all your childish quips dry up so quickly once you find yourself beat,” Octavius sneered, approaching him. Peter pressed as close to the metal ‘X’ as he could, unable to back away. “I like seeing this side of you. Helpless, trapped, too terrified to even crack your pathetic little jokes. Completely at my will and mercy. Why, I could slice open your gut and let your entrails spill across the floor, and all you could is watch. Isn’t this exciting?”

His breaths came out in choppy huffs. He pulled ferociously at his bonds. They didn’t budge.

Peter Parker was on his deathbed. That was certain. But Spider-Man couldn't let him win. Not yet.

“Very exciting,” Peter eventually agreed, slumping against the boards, forcing his voice to level out. “I’ve, uh—I’ve always wanted to know if my third grade science teacher has been right all these years—that I’m perfect both inside and out.”

The side of Doc Oc’s mouth twitched. “Hm. The comedian returns. Amusing.” He rose up on two of his metal limbs to stand eye-level with Spider-Man. “But trust me, arachnid: he won’t last long.”

Peter waited for him to stab him, strike him, skewer him like a shish kabob. Instead, the evil scientist turned away, meandering up to a table across the room. Peter breathed a slow sigh of relief.

“And to answer your earlier questions, I was paid a handsome sum of cash to capture you from a person I’d best not name. Quite a handsome sum, enough to fund my research for years. Half up front, and the next half once I hand you over to him.” He sifted through the tools on the table, examining each one with delicate and ominous interest. Peter watched, fear shivering across his skin. “But this person is not expecting your presence until tomorrow morning, which gives me _plenty_ of time to ask you some of my burning questions, and to pull the truth out of you using a few…persuasion methods.”

Mr. Stark had warned him that this might happen some day. The more he tried to protect the world, the more powerful the enemies that would rise against him. Nearly all of the Avengers had been in this position at some point in their career. Now it was his turn to be strong. Spider-Man summoned all the courage he could muster up from within his little body.

“Sorry, but your bedside manners _suck,_ Doc. I’m not telling you anything.”

Doctor Octopus lifted a drill-like contraption from the table, a sinister grin on his lips. “We shall see how stubborn your resolve is after I tear the muscle from your bones fiber by individual fi—”

The ring of a cell phone interrupted him, causing both Peter and Otto to jump. Octavius grumbled to himself, yanking the phone from his pocket, and frowned at the screen before answering.

“Hello?” he snapped, then immediately sobered up. “Oh, um, hello sir. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you. Yes, yesterday evening. The plan worked marvelously.”

“Who’s that?” Peter asked. Doctor Octopus ignored him.

“Yes, of course. I’ll have him to you tomorrow. Where’s he now? Here, in my lab, preparing to face the interrogation of a lifetime.”

Doc Oc shot a smug glare in his direction, making Peter stiffen, then turned back towards the wall.

“Harm him? Well, _obviously,_ sir. How else am I to get him to talk?”

A voice warbled back at him from the phone. Otto’s expression immediately fell, replaced by anger and confusion.

“ _What?_ But sir, you never said… _ugh.”_ He dumped the drill on the table, pouting like a child. _“_ All right. Yes, I understand. Not a scratch. See you tomorrow.”

Octavius slipped the phone back into his coat, then slowly turned to face him. He flexed his hands at him sides and held his shoulders tight.

“It seems you’ve had a stroke of luck, arachnid. The man who wants you needs you fully intact. While you are in my custody, I can’t harm you.”

Peter lit up. “Wait, really? _Ha!_ Suck it, Doc!” Then he frowned, tilting his head to the side. “Wait, why?”

“He didn’t say. But I wouldn’t celebrate so hastily, Spider-Man.” He lifted closer to him. His eyes were cold and dark. “There are _plenty_ of means of torture that don’t require bodily harm.”

This was his chance to think his way out of here. He had to buy himself some time. Peter cleared his throat.

“Well, you better hurry and come up with one, Doc. You know, before the Avengers show up here and kick your ass.”

Otto rolled his eyes. “The Avengers will never find this place, you idiot.”

“Yes they will. They’ll track my phone.”

“I destroyed your phone as soon as I caught you.”

Peter’s jaw dropped. “What? _Doc!_ Not cool, man. I know it was a piece of crap, but it was _my_ piece of crap!”

“Shut it, you blabbering moron!”

Peter grinned. _Now_ he was back in the game.

“My suit has a tracker too, genius. They’re going to find me, and I promise they won’t go easy on you, even if you are a fat, ugly loser living in a garbage can.”

The doctor scoffed. “You’re lying. I disabled your suit. And if there was, my sensors would have picked it up.”

“Not this one. Tony Stark made it. It’s teeny-tiny and puts out a signal only he can track.”

Peter _was_ lying, of course. Tony hadn’t made any tracker of the kind, at least not to his knowledge. If his suit was offline, which seemed to be the case, the tracker that was in it was offline too.

Still, Doc Oc didn’t need to know that. Slowly, the color drained from the scientist’s face.

“Where is it?” he hissed. His metal arms flew at Spider-Man, searching for the hidden device. “Tell me where it is, _now!”_

The two mechanical claws started grabbing at Peter’s legs and midsection in their hunt for tracker, causing him to cringe. The sensation was not what he was expecting, and before he knew it, a massive wave of laughter was building behind his lips. He managed to stay quiet for a few more seconds, clenching his jaw, coiling his muscles, until one of the tentacles squeezed his side. Spider-Man flinched and yelped, making Octavius start.

“What was that? Is the tracker there?” His metal claw tweaked the same spot. Peter squeaked.

“Quihit it! It’s too small to find!”

“Then why are you so jumpy all of a sudden?”

Spider-Man didn’t answer, his face heating up beneath his mask. Doc Oc narrowed his eyes. To Peter’s dismay, the prongs returned to his ribs and began kneading at them experimentally. Despite his attempts to fight it, high-pitched giggles started slipping through his defenses—and once the seal was broken, he couldn’t make them stop. Doc blinked in surprise as Peter jerked away from the contact.

“Ahaha _hey!_ Stohop it, you psycho!” He giggled and squirmed until Octavius withdrew his arm, leaving him panting and flushed.

“Ah, I see now. You’re not worried about me finding any device. You’re just ticklish.”

The redness in his cheeks bled through the rest of his body. After having Tony Stark discover how unbearably sensitive he was, Peter thought the worst of the embarrassment was behind him. What could possibly be more humiliating than having your biggest idol find out that one poke to the tummy rendered Spider-Man a giggly, useless blob?

Your biggest _nemesis_ , that’s what.

Peter suddenly felt hyperaware of how vulnerable he was. Doctor Octopus could sense his discomfort, which mirrored how he’d been acting earlier: twitchy, anxious, devoid of chatter or childish jokes. An evilly knowing glint entered the scientist’s eyes.

“You seem tense, Spider-Man. I told you I’m not allowed to harm you, so why are on edge again?”

The young hero swallowed, shifting against the ‘X’. “W-well, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m imprisoned by a maniac and strapped to a freezing cold board like a dead carcass about to get an autopsy. You try getting comfortable on this thing. Not exactly the spa day I’ve been meaning to treat myself with, _Doc._ ”

“You were acting perfectly at ease until I brushed you here.” He pointed to the spot on his ribcage with one of his mechanical pincers, causing Spider-Man to flinch sharply. “Are you really that sensitive?”

Peter stared sideways with a nervous cough. “Uh…no…?”

“So you don’t mind if I do this?”

Before he could squeak out a protest, the metal prongs zipped to his side. It was comical how violently the contact made him jump, and how quickly laughter succeeded it.

“Ack! Oho c-crahap! Nohoho!” Good _god,_ he was in trouble. Now that he was tickling him on purpose, it was _so_ much worse. The robotic fingers were stiff and icy, kneading his ticklish torso with machine-like precision and cruelty. Different than how hands felt, but no less maddening—perhaps even more so. As they moved up his side, pinching each individual rib, Peter’s laughter climbed.

“Now that I think about it, this works out marvelously. Although the method is rather…unconventional, I can still get you to talk without having to physically harm you.” He dropped the claw back down to his belly, making Spider-Man wince and squeal. “Now tell me, arachnid: where does Stark keep his research on nano-technology, and how can I get ahold of it?”

Uh-oh. Peter had been hoping he’d ask him something he had no clue about, like where Hawkeye had been for the last two years or what size underwear the Hulk wore. Unfortunately, he knew the exact location of the hard drive Mr. Stark kept all of his nano-tech information on, because he’d been letting Peter work on it with him in the lab.

But he couldn’t let Doc Oc know that.

“W-whahat? I dohon’t know! I have noho idea!” He angled his body as far from mechanical fingers as he could manage, giggling hysterically. “Thihis is rihidiculous! Let me gohoho!”

Octavius smiled at the helpless hero. “Not until you tell me what I want to know.”

To Peter’s horror, a second pincer pounced on his defenseless torso, squeezing his other side and tickling his tummy. Now there was absolutely no escaping the tickle torture, and it was _twice_ as unbearable. Poor Spider-Man shrieked and laughed, thrashing and jerking and throwing his head back.

“Nohohaha! Ahahahasshole!” He _hated_ how much Doc’s evil plan was working. He was already desperate to make the cruel tickling stop. The metal prongs continued to knead and claw at the teen’s sensitive midsection, increasing their speed and intensity with every passing second. Peter’s sides ached as he giggled wildly, _endlessly._

“Cursing?” Octavius teased. “That’s awfully out-of-character for our friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.” He moved both pincers to his ribs, drilling them with tickles and sending the superhero into a twitchy frenzy. He had to admit, it was odd to see the renowned wall-crawler reduced to such a pathetically helpless position. It was even odder to see how effective tickle torture was on someone with such a high pain tolerance. In all of their brawls and battles, he had never considered utilizing so frivolous a tactic. There was something strangely… _endearing_ about it. Spider-Man could take four nights of beat-downs, but hardly two minutes of tickling? His laughter was so high-pitched and childlike; it made the doctor begin to wonder how old he actually was.

Meanwhile, Peter was hanging on by fraying threads. He bucked and squirmed and shook his head, giggles pouring from his lips. “Dohoc _pleeheehease!”_ he cried. He wasn’t sure if begging for mercy would increase or dampen Doc Oc’s thirst for brutality, but at this point, it was his only option. “I d-dohon’t know ahanythihing! Mihister Starhark hasn’t shohohown me! I dohon’t—I cahan’t—oho _gahaEHAHAHAGH!”_

Mid-sentence, Doc’s sinister claws crept up to his armpits and started scribbling experimentally against the hollows. Spider-Man all but lost it, wrenching with every ounce of his spider strength and pealing into loud, hiccup-filled bouts of uncontrollable laughter. Octavius couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Oh dear, have I found your weak spot?” he asked. The deadly prongs burrowed deeper into his underarms, eliciting yelps and squeaks from the poor hero. “Maybe I’ll just hang around here until you start talking.”

Peter was certain he would die if the tickling didn’t stop. _Maybe_ he could survive a few more minutes of it in other places—belly, sides, ribs—but his _armpits?_ Nope. They were too damn sensitive for him to bear. Where the _hell_ were the Avengers? A part of him hoped they didn’t come, because this would be very embarrassing to have to explain. The rest of him was too worn down to care.

He had to tell him. He _had_ to. But he couldn’t. _He couldn’t!_

“STAHAPSTAHAPSTAHAHAHAP!” he pleaded through tears. “I SWEHEHEAR! I DOHON’T _KNOHOHOHOW!_ AHAHAHADOHOHOCSHIHITPLEEHEEHEASE!” His words were swallowed by painful hiccups that racked his entire frame. At this point, he could hardly even make a _sound,_ he was laughing so hard. Octavius shook his head amusedly.

“I’m not an idiot, arachnid,” he said. The tentacles suddenly withdrew from his underarms, leaving Peter dazed and reeling with incredible relief. “I know you know where they are.”

Weak giggles spilled continuously from his mouth as he fought to catch his breath. “Eheheh…eheh…oho my god.” He hung limply from the metal ‘X’. “Noho, I…I dohon’t…”

“You do,” Doc insisted. “It’s funny how effective this is on you. It’s almost cute.”

Peter wanted to punch his smug face in _so_ bad right now. If he could just get out of these stupid restraints…

Before he had a chance to try, one of Octavius’ metal arms reached up and grabbed ahold of his mask.

“I nearly forgot; I can see who you are now. Why wasn’t this the first thing I did? Silly me.”

Panic flooded Peter’s system. “No—Doc— _wait_ —!”

It was no use. In an instant, Octavius ripped the mask from his head. Just like that, his cover was blown. Slowly, he met Doc’s gaze, eyes wide and afraid.

After soaking in the true face of his archenemy, Doc felt a sick twist in his stomach. “You’re…a child,” he finally said. The Spider-Man mask fell from his claw.

Peter’s face was still red from laughing; his eyes still shone with tears. He was at a loss for words.

“You’re telling me I’ve been fighting a child all this time? Spider-Man is just some kid? I was planning to break every bone in your body. I was going to sell you to be experimented on.”

Peter swallowed and stared at the floor. “I’m not…a _child_ …”

“How old are you?” he asked. When Spider-Man didn’t answer, his metal hands jumped back to his torso. Peter shrieked.

“AHAHAHEEHEE!” His laughter was even more adorable when his face was visible, and you could see the giant smile that overtook his features. “NOHOHAHAHEHEHACAHAHAN’T!”

“If you tell me, I’ll release you,” Doc said. Peter didn't care that he was probably lying. He immediately crumbled.

“FIHIFTEEHEEN! I’M FIHIHIFTEEHEEHEEN!” He realized too late he could’ve just lied. But Doctor Octopus had seen his face; by now he could probably look him up and easily find the answer.

Slowly, the mechanical tentacles relinquished their tickle attack. Peter melted with relief, giggling breathlessly.

“You’re _fifteen?”_ Doc Oc gawked. Spider-Man didn’t understand why it was so shocking. An _eight-year-old_ was a child, not him! Huffing in frustration, Octavius slammed one of his arms against the panel of buttons in front of him.

With a _click,_ the clasps on his wrists and ankles suddenly opened. Peter dropped to the ground, landing on his hands and knees.

“A teenager has no business being involved with superheroes or criminals or anything like this. Even I know that. Go home, and never interfere with my operations again.”

Peter fought to shake the remaining laughter from his voice. “Y-you, heh, can’t _really_ expect me to listen to you, can you Doc? I’m not gonna stohop fighting you just cuz you've suddenly decided to develop some weird, skewed morality.”

Octavius hinted a smile. “Are you sure about that, Spidey?” he asked, feigning innocence. Before Peter could react in time, four metal limbs lunged at him, pinning him to the ground and tickling his tummy and underarms with merciless cruelty. Spider-Man exploded into hysterical laughter, kicking and squirming but unable to escape the evil scientist’s hold. No matter how much he tickled him, the young hero’s tolerance for it never grew.

“Because if you don’t listen, then perhaps I’ll just have to do _this_ every time you show up to try and stop me. Not a very heroic look on you, is it?”

Not even Spider-Man’s greatest nemesis was immune to the web-slinger’s endearing aura. Like everyone else that knew him, Doc couldn’t get over how adorable the kid was when he was reduced to a puddle of helpless laughter.

As Spider-Man giggled and squealed and struggled vainly to break free, a _crash_ sounded from the room next door. Octavius fled the evil lair as quick as a flash; Peter didn’t even see which way he went. He laid flat on the floor, trying to catch his breath, hugging his aching sides.

The back door burst from its hinges and careened across the floor. Peter jolted upright as Iron Man, Black Widow, War Machine, and Cap came rushing into the room.

“Peter?” Tony cried, the helmet dissolving off his face. He landed beside him and laid a hand on his back. “Kid, are you alright?”

“Is he hurt?” Cap asked, jogging up to join the group. Tony gave Peter’s shoulders a shake.

“Kid, answer me. Are you okay?”

He was having trouble processing everything that had just transpired. When he opened his mouth, his ears reddened.

“I, uh, yeah. I’m fine.” He blinked, rubbing unconsciously at his giggle-filled belly. “How’d you find me? Doc disabled my suit.”

“You think I left your suit with just one tracker? After that stunt you pulled with the ferry?” He helped him to his feet, wrapping an arm around his back.

“Where is it?” Peter asked.

“Lucky for you, it’s too small to find.” Tony poked him playfully in the tummy—a thing he’d started doing now that he knew how well it worked at cheering the kid up. Peter yelped with laughter and buried himself into Stark’s side. 

“ _Pleehease_ don’t,” he wheezed listlessly. Once the giggling started up again, he couldn’t make it stop. “I cahan’t—you dohon’t— _uhuhugh."_

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tony chuckled. Peter was giggling too much to reply.


End file.
